A warm fingertip claws down the outline of the side of my face, the sharp, pointed fingernail drawing scarlet roughly on my skin. A shudder ripples down my spine, and I clamp my teeth together as the chord of bones press into the frigid puddle of blood on the equally as freezing asphalt. Moonlight glints off of the gold ring on the pale finger. A line of clear stones shine back at me. In the surrounding blackness, I can barely make out the clear night sky over the city buildings, the alleyway that I am trapped in, the bustling street where no one knows of what is happening to me.
The pale hand rips my thick, black glasses off of my face and chucks it towards the figure behind him. He grips my jaw in his rough hand, barely pulling me up into a sitting position. Although I am practically blind without my glasses, I can make out a balding head, and six o'clock shadow on the young face that is barely inches away from my bruised one.
An obviously masculine voice calls out from behind the man in front of me. "Leave it as is. We don't need someone finding us with the abomination."
"Can't we do some real damage?" the man before me asks in a surprisingly whiney voice. If he doesn't think that beating me to a pulp was no "real" damage, I don't want to find out what he considers real damage to be.
I can hear the wicked grin on the faraway voice when he says, "Not today, brother. We'll wait for a better time to kill off the fag."
I cough harshly, blood splattering onto the face before me. I grin as the man swears, growls loudly, and punches me again in the face. I collapse back onto the alley floor, my broken bones complaining as they are hassled with again. The man practically tackles me, but is then dragged away by the other man before he can attempt at killing me.
Right before they are too far away to hear my dying voice, I shout to them, "Just so you know, I'm not a fag. I'm a dyke."